0102 Wing Street
by Sita Seraph
Summary: Duo Maxwell is trying to keep his restaurant and hotel, Maxwell, from collapsing when a youthful stud-with-cash walks into his life…and tries to take control over it. 1x2
1. The Braided Owner

Title: 0102 Wing Street - 1

Author: Sita Seraph

Genre: Romance, Humor

Pairing: 1x2, 3x4 get-together fic

Rated: PG-13

Warning: Attempt at humor. Alternative Universe.  Yaoi.

Summary: Duo Maxwell is trying to keep his restaurant and hotel, Maxwell, from collapsing when a youthful stud-with-cash walks into his life…and tries to take control over it.

Note: I think I have an odd sense of humor.  That's why I rarely write 'funny' fics.  'Cause I'm not too confident about my comedy skills.  So…um…what I'm trying to say is…was this funny or not?  *blushing*

Hi.  Hello.  My name is Duo Maxwell.  Yeah, yeah, cruel parents, ne?  But, not too cruel, since they left me in charge to a grungy, run-down hotel building with a dying café and dinner restaurant. It's a lot of work, yeah, but I like it.  Living in low places has always been my life style anyway.  Want to know a little bit more about me?  Well, okay. 

My hot and wild passion is writing music.  Ever since I was a kid, I used to come up with crazy tunes or just start singing to the wind (when I'm alone of course.  Holy humiliation if anyone actually heard me).  You can usually find me when I'm not working with my head plugged into my new headphones and portable Sony CD player and singing with all my worth to my trusty hamburger flipper.  Of course, that happens IN the kitchen, so there isn't much chance of you catching me in the act.  I'm a shy little brat. (1)

I don't own a dog.  They're too hard to take care of.  Nope, I have a black cat with green eyes named Shini.  Of course the little guy wouldn't give a damn about the world and me if it killed him.  Just as long if there is someone to feed him he'll leave you alone.  But if you are an hour late on his dinner, don't complain when you find your kitchen utensils in disarray.  Fair warning.

I run the restaurant all by me self.  Meaning I have all the bills and food to take care of. I really need to raise the prices on my food or I'm going to have the bill collectors on my ass big time.  I have one employee and that's only because I'm desperate for the help.  I didn't even give him an interview; just hired him on the spot.  Turns out he's shyer then me and doesn't say anything more then one to three words.  Aint it peachy?  I have someone working the frying pans with me and all he says is 'Yes', 'No', 'Perhaps', 'I don't know', and 'Okay'.  Hoooollllllyyyyy social skills.  Ah, well, at least he's minimum wage.

Hmm?  Oh.  His name is Trowa Barton…No.  Not _the Trowa Barton from the Barton Family.  Its just coincidence…I think.  Okay, so maybe he had cruel parents too.  Hey!  I don't know everything about the guy.  I'd be lucky to know his age.  Do you think that's important…?_

I also have two residents in my shabby little hotel.  One Chinese man, named Chang Wufei, who always rants to me when I come to collect the rent.  I guess I'm his personal punching bag.  I don't think he likes America too much.  He always complains about the pushy people, the food, women, the people, the food, women…Well, yeah, you get the idea.  I guess it makes him feel better that someone is listening to him while he writes his check. 

The other renter, who is actually nice to me (Thank the Lord), is Quatre Winner.  Chirpy little guy, always says hello to Trowa and me before he heads off to his daddy's work.  Now, his daddy is a big shot.  You know the Winner Corporation?  Yeah, well, that's Quatre.  Don't ask me why he rents from poor little ol' me in this shithole, but he does.  Maybe he hates the fancy places too.

Okay.  Now for looks.  Don't be afraid though, I'm just trying to be original.  That and because I never had a handy blade.  What I'm trying to say is that I have a braid.  A long brown braid in fact.  Goes right to my tush (and may I just add that I have a very nice ass too, folks).  I always get these questions like 'Do you cook the food here?' or 'Why don't you put your hair in a bun or somethin'?'  What's with the world these days?  A few loose strands of hair aint gonna kill someone.  Enjoy your meal.  You probably wont even feel it.  Yeah, well, moving on.  I have one pride and joy.  Natural violet eyes.  Swear to God.  It came from my old ma's family.  It's completely genetic.  What?  You don't believe me?  Fine.  Big raspberry to you too.

All in all, I'm a happy little camper.  I got a roof, food, and money (well, barely).  I'm in good shape, I have my music, and I have one person in the world that acknowledges my existence.  Life is good, even if my home is in need of some fixing.  Yep, I don't need anything.

Truly.

Really.

What?

Don't believe me?

Damn, you're good. 

*****

I've always been easily entertained.  I guess that's why I'm laying on my bed, staring at a corner in the ceiling where a handsome young spider sits.  I wonder what it's doing, just sitting there while the world passes both of us by.  Is it waiting for its food to appear so it can munch on that for an hour?  Or perhaps it's cleaning its little legs for the long climb across the white and cheap terrain called my ceiling.  Maybe it's questioning the laws of the universe.  Bet it doesn't even know I'm watching him.  Probably thinks it's just him and the flies.  That's his universe.  Never mind about where the blood bank (arms, legs, you know) comes from; probably a gift from Daddy Long Legs. 

You know how disgusting, yet fascinating, spiders are?  I had a dream once in the gutter where spiders started munching on my foot for dinner.  After they were done, I had one ugly foot, man.  Red like frostbitten and bleeding from little pin needle wounds.  Eck.  Makes me feel sick all over again, just thinkin' about it. 

Oh, oh!  The spider moved!  I watch it skitter across the wall along the line of the ceiling.  Then it stilled again and my momentary excitement vanished.  I really should kill the bastard before he finds residence in my bed but then, whom would I talk to at night when I go to bed?  Decisions, Decisions… 

Raising my hand over my head, I took a good long look at my watch.  Almost time to open the restaurant and for Silent One to arrive.  Better get the frying pans acookin' and listen to my daily dose of Linkin Park.  Damn, I love that band. 

Shoving myself off my lumpy bed, I make my way across the dirty floor to my rickety door.  If someone decided to rob my place, if they think there is something valuable, all it would take is a tiny kick and my door would come crashing down.  I reeeeaaaallly need to start fixing things around here.  At least my restaurant door was stable enough.  All my money went to that damn shop anyway. 

Being careful to not disrupt my touchy door, I slip out into the dirty hallway.  Stains of crap had literally fused with the walls and floor and no matter what kind of soap and warm water; they weren't going to come up.  I would probably have to remodel the entire thing.  Yeah, right, right after I win the lotto.

Sighing, I toddle down the smelly hallway to the staircase.  A light on the left wall was flickering in and out inside its old-fashioned lamp.  If I ever had time, I would have to try to fix the electricity as well.  The hot water was beginning to have problems as well.  So much crap to do and never enough time.  Life sucks that way, ne?

Down three staircases and through a second hallway, I arrive at my pride and joy, the kitchen.  If I had a choice, I'd sleep in my holy clean kitchen.  I've put every penny in this damn restaurant, trying to make it function better then my water system.  Clean knives, new stove, nice cutting table.  Yep.  It doesn't smell like rotten floorboards here.  It smells like food.  And I love food.

Ding-a-ling-a-ding.  Ah, our first customer.  Running my hand over my favorite steel stove, I walk to the swinging door to my restaurant.  This door was sturdy enough so with liveliness I kicked the door outwards to reveal my employee shaking his coat free of frosted flakes (snow, people. SNOOOOW. Not the cereal).  He had more crazy hair then I could ever hope for.  Brown locks that completely cover half his face.  If people were scared of my hair getting in their food, wait until they saw the real cooker of the house.  I'd be lucky to have any customers after that.

That's kind of odd, don't you think?  People are so worried about getting a strand in their hamburger; they don't even notice the wad of spit on their onion rings…

…That was a joke you know.

"Yo, Tro!" I wave to him enthusiastically and he looks up while tucking his coat under his arm.

"Hello."

So polite, so nice, so formal.  Gag.

"Remember to clean up the snow flakes," I said.  "We don't want some old woman to slip and break her little bones, do we?"

He just stared at me.

Ooookay, now is a good time to retreat to my far corner of the kitchen like a good manager.  

Letting the door swing close, I walk to the stove and flip on the heaters.  Shoving pans back in their usual place for gravy, potatoes, soup, etc. etc. I move to my second stove for the hamburgers to burn on.  A flat gray surface that really steams up those meat circles in a couple of minutes.  I hear Trowa come in, grab a mop, and retreat back to my restaurant.

Such a good little boy.  Pat.  Pat.

Now its time for some cooookin'.  Come here you lovely pieces of fat.

*****

Construction workers.  I love 'em.  Ten times better then the riff-raff teenagers, who are my age (imagine that), that come into my store.  They're always hungry and ready to hand a few bucks on their lunch break.  There has been some major construction around this lower life of town.  Hopefully my food keeps them coming back for a bit more.  I seriously need the cash.

Kicking the swinging door open from the kitchen with enthusiasm, I carry out fresh hamburgers to a couple of happy construction workers in the corner booth, passing the waist high swivel door on my way.  A couple of pretty teenagers stand near the music box, bobbing their heads or doing little cute moves.  There are the locals, Hilde and Relena, who always come in at this time to spend their cash on my music and sometimes order some fries.  They stay for an hour then leave again, only to come back later at night for some good hard-rock music.  The other girls I haven't had the fortune of talking to.

"Here you go, boys," I chirp with my usual vigor ness.  "Nice of you guys to order the same thing.  Makes my job easier on remembering whose who with which and what."  Placing their plates down in front of them, I turn to leave but one of them calls me back.

"Do you cook the food here?"

Oh, what a day.  I *told* you they loved to torture me with that question.  Plastering a smile on my face, I turn back around.

"Why yes," I answer in my sweet nonsense voice.  The one on the right grins.

"Oh, just making sure."

Turning again, I make a beeline back to the safety of my kitchen.  I will not be responsible if someone disses my hair one more time-

Snatch.  Someone is TOUCHING my braid.  Someone TUGGED on my braid.  Let me tell you, that is a big no-no.  Duo Maxwell, King of Braids and a falling hotel, does NOT like anyone TOUCHING his braid UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES.  Pity the soul who dared to get the manager of the building even more pissed off. 

Whirling around, my mouth full with swear words and death threats, I suddenly falter and choke on my own saliva.  A suit.  A SUIT is in my building.  You know what a suit is?  A suit is somebody with cash.  And usually that cash comes from bad places like bill collectors, or lawsuit dudes.  I'm in trouble.  And the suit has my braid.  Thank God I have better eyesight then most, or I'd be in a shit load of trouble. 

"Are you Duo Maxwell?"

Swallowing my swear words down for another time and taking a tentative step back, I look up from the black suit, that seemed to by mocking me right now, into a face…of a very young man.  Okay, so maybe I wasn't in so much trouble.  The guy had to be at least my age with brown hair (God, everyone is copying my hair color these days, aren't they?).  Brown hair that was even crazier then my morning hair.  Looks like someone doesn't own a hairbrush…

Hah!  I have threeeeeeeee!

Narrow face, hard expression, blue eyes.  Yeah, nothing really amazing here.  Except that he looked like he was ready to kill me.  And I didn't do anything!

Oh, wait.  He asked me a question didn't he?  Heh.  Whoops.

"Huh?" I said intelligently.  God, I'm so good.

"Hn," he grunts.  Impatient, impatient.  People are just so nice to me, don't you think?  "Are _you Duo Maxwell?"_

"Can I have my hair back now?" I asked politely.  He 'hn'ed again and released my pretty braid.  Protectively, I clutched it and made a pathetic little sniffing sound, like he hurt me.  Which he did, in this case.  The back of my head sure did hurt.

"Take a seat and order something."  I asked him nicely, putting on my charming, winning smile. Hey, I might as well get some cash while he's here, ne? "I'll go get Mr. Maxwell."  No, I am NOT trying to spoof up my ego.  I'm just trying to give this guy the wrong impression.  The very wrong impression.

Turning around, I leave the suit behind and return to my kitchen.  Ah, the smell of burning oil and hamburger fat.  I love it.  I search the plains of my cooking world until I spot my trusty employee.

"Ooooh, Trowa…" I purr and roll up to his side, glomping onto his arm.  He looks down at me like I have two heads, but at least he is noticing my existence.  I mean, how can you NOT notice a little braid headed baka clinging onto your hamburger flipper arm? Well, anyway…

"Trowa, I need the BIGGEST favor of the entire universe," I dawdle.  Maybe if I act like Shini, he'll actually say yes…

"What?"

WhooHoo!  He opens the conversation! Score!

"Would you go out to the suit and pretend you're me?  Pleeeaaaaassssssseeeee?" I beg.

He blinks.  Good, he's registering the information…Must have been a shocker to learn that your employer is a chicken shit, hm?

"No."

Damn.  Maybe I should threaten that his job relies on this little favor.  But then again, I think he might be looking for a good excuse to leave my hellhole.  Hmmm…What to do, what to do.

"Come on Trowa…" I beg and tug on his arm.  He looks back at me and stares at my hands like 'hey, maybe if I stare at these long enough, he'll go away and leave me alone so I can flip these burgers with efficiency and get the employee of the month award.'  Haha, I just crack myself up.

"I'll give you a penny raise!" I chirp.  His expression changes again and looks like he's debating whether he should laugh or tell me to get off his arm.

"Yay," Trowa replies.  Gack.  Was that humor?  The wonder of surprises…

"Pwease….????" I beg and bury my head into his arm.  Back to the Shini tactic.  Tightening my hold on his nice, strong flipper arm, I tug and pull downward like an insistent kid sister who wants to go on the merry-go-round one more time.  Trowa should be able to give in any moment now…

"Sir, please get off my arm or I will be forced to hurt you with my spatula," Trowa ordered.

Whoa.  Does thou ears deceive me?  Trowa said more then one syllable! Everyone, bring out the balloons, pop the champagne, we are going to have a PARTY!  Lady Strippers, come MY way…WhooHoo!  

But through all my shock, I am NOT going to give in and go see that suit again just to tell me that he wants to buy the place, inspect the hotel, or whatnot.  I am stubborn.  I am insistent.  I am like Shini.  So, it came down to this, huh?

I was going to give Trowa The Look.  No one has survived The Look.  Yes, Silent One, you are mine to control!  I shall have my way, no matter what!  Bwhahaha…

Okay, that's enough.

I look up slowly as Trowa raises MY spatula (How dare he thinks he owns my instruments.  Teenagers) into the air, ready to beat the greasy instrument into my face.  But suddenly he wavers and stares at me.  First come my pity eyes.  So innocent looking, yes they are.  Filled with the 'pity me' look.  Once you can't ignore my hypnotizing eyes, you have no chance to survive! Bwahahahaha…

There we go again.  Anyway…

Thinking that it's the right time, I move onto the next step.  I make a little choked sound and my bottom lip protrudes outwards in a baby fashion.  Immediately, I can feel my practiced tears welling up in my eyes until they squint as if in pain and dismay.  Closing my eyes, I make another choked sob, lifting hand to wipe my eyes with a trembling hand.

A heavy sigh from above.  "Okay.  What do you want me to do?"

Gotcha.  God, I'm TOO good.

*****

I wonder how it's going.  I pace across my tiled floor, throwing my hands behind my back and circling the cutting table in the middle of my beautiful kitchen.  Trowa had just left for the suit about…oh…30 seconds ago.  Yes, thou are very impatient.  But if you had crazy notions that you might lose your only home, I bet you wouldn't be filing your nails right now.  Maybe if I just took a little peak outside and see if Trowa was doing as instructed…

Creeping forward and biting the ends of my hair, I open the swinging wooden door and look outside.  Hmm…Construction worker that needs to lose weight (but hey, I'm not complaining!  As long as he comes here for the food…)…Relena and the gals…A gay guy staring at me…Hey, wait a tick.  Stopping my momentarily search, I stare at the guy whose staring at me.  Oh, yeah, definitely gay.  Hey, mister, don't you dare wiggle that eyebrow at me!  No, don't do it…Noooooooo…

The pervert just asked for my phone number! HUMPH!  The nerve of the guy even thinking I could OWN one!  Moving on…

Trowa…where art thou (Yes!  I am a fan of Shakespeare!  Have a problem with that? HMMM!?)?  Tro…Tro…Whoa, definitely not Trowa…Trowa…Trowa…Ah there you are!  And you're coming straight my way!…With the suit.

Ack! In quick retreat, I fall back into the kitchen.  Trowa, you're fired!  You're acting skills are horrible!  Even I could pull off being me!

…Wait…

Okay, man, look casual.  Don't look like you are ready to crawl out the window or something.  Pick up the knife now and cut away this carrot…There we go…Good Duo…Good boy…

The door swung open, Trowa and the suit appearing in the doorway.  I felt my heart go into my throat then back down again into my stomach for the acid to chew on.  I didn't want to lose my home!!!

Oh, wait.  I have a knife, don't I?

"Get back!!" I scream, and raise the knife.  So much for looking casual.  I must look like a complete psycho right now.  Oh well.  "Back, I say!  I will not lose the farm!"

Trowa was having one of those moments of colliding emotions.  I think he was deciding between hysterical laughing or doing ka-fu on my ass and wrestle with the knife.  Come and get it, Silent One…

"Uh, Sir," Trowa coughed.  "Please put the knife down…Mr. Yuy isn't-."

"Stay out of this Trowa!" I screamed.  "I'll take care of him!"

Trowa was beginning to cough, shoulders shaking.

…

He's laughing at me, isn't he?

"My name is Heero Yuy," the suit said.  "I just-."

"Look, my place may not be the best, but its mine!" I reasoned, putting the knife in my other hand since the other one was sweating a river.

"Sir~~~," Trowa stumbled.

"Is there a conspiracy here that I don't know about?" I asked, waving the knife around crazily. I watched both of them, perfectly calm (besides the fact that Trowa was having a hard time not laughing at me), while I, the very owner of the floorboards they stand on, raved like a complete lunatic.  Ahh…God must have put me on this earth so people can mock me.  Cruel.

"Mr. Maxwell, please listen," the suit demanded.  I thought about it.

"Five seconds," I said and pointed my little dagger at him like a sword.  I must look SO intimidating right now…

"I just want a room!" The suit yelled, his patience obviously shattered.  I blink.

Well, jeez.  Why didn't he say so in the first place?


	2. Damn the Suit

Title: 0102 Wing Street - 2

Author: Sita Seraph

Genre: Romance, Humor

Pairing: 1x2, 3x4 get-together fic

Rated: PG-13

Warning: Attempt at humor. Alternative Universe.  Yaoi.

Summary: Duo Maxwell is trying to keep his restaurant and hotel, Maxwell, from collapsing when a youthful stud-with-cash walks into his life…and tries to take it over.

"All righty then, follow me," I tell the suit as he came back into the kitchen with a small bag in hand.  Trowa returned, happily I think, to his little haven of hamburger fat while I show my new resident to his room.  "Trowa, I'll be back soon."  A nod of acknowledgement.  Yay.

Turning around, I went the way I came this morning.  The suit follows behind me, rather slowly I think, as I strut down the hall.  He was either A.) thinking about how disgusting this place is and how much work it needs.  All the new people thought that, whether they denied it or not.  Well, _I wasn't forcing the guy to stay. It was his choice after all and he __had picked this place when the front of the building didn't look so hot either.  People.  B.) He was wondering if I was going to attack him again.  I must say that was a mighty close call.  I was ready to either chase the guy out of my store or run the other direction and hide under my little bed with my spider friend.  He must really think I'm psycho.  C.) He was checking out my ass._

I really hope it wasn't the last one.

Turning around, I watch him walk casually towards me after I had bounded off ahead with my endless energy.  My foot started doing a nice little impression of impatience against the dirty tiles. Come on, one foot in front of the other…There we go.

"Okay, since its going to take a year to get up these stairs at THAT pace, I might as well start explaining things," I say, turning around when he had finally caught up with me.  I start up the rickety old stairs, squeaking and groaning under my massive weight (I'm not large! Really!  It was a JOKE! Oi!).  I bet they were just waiting for a good excuse to come apart and suck me under their wooden tiles.  Ugh.

"The elevator isn't working at the moment," I start explaining, walking quickly up with my hand on the shaky banister.  "It actually comes and goes but in case you ever want a private place to scream and rant, the elevator would a perfect place to get stuck in.  So, um, yeah."

I think he is listening to me.  It was kind of hard to tell since he had that blank face all the time.  This guy must be a hell of a businessman.  WHY did he choose such a dump to live in?

"Moving on, there are two other people, not counting myself, that live in this little hell hole.  Chang Wufei, china guy, and he loves to talk about the unjust things in the world.  So if you're in the mood to listen about women, disgusting food, and justice, then he is your man.  If not, stay away.  Fair warning."

First floor, finally.  Moving on to the second…

"The other is Quatre Winner.  Know him?"

There came that weird sound again that sounded like 'hn'.  I wonder how many ways one person could use that little sound.  Acknowledgement.  Suggestive.  Annoyance.  Sexual…ehehehehehehe.

"Well, I'm just going to take that as a no," I continue, shrugging.  "He owns the Winner Corporation, which, if you are a businessman, it should jog your memory a bit.  Really nice guy, you wont have to worry about running away from him when he walks down the hall."

"I know him."

"You do?"

Second floor…

"Yes."

This guy is just as bad as Trowa!  Sheesh, what is it with the world today?  Why do they keep sending me the strong silent types and justice freaks?  Thank God for Quatre or I might have gone insane by now.  The world is so cruel to me.

"Well, uh, then we'll just have to have a party!" I joke.  He stared at me strangely.  Fiiiiiiine.  Humph.

Finally we got to the third floor where I had shoved everyone.  It had a good view, believe it or not, from this level and it was also my cleanest floor.

…

Okay, fine.  I'm LAZY, all right?  I admit it.  But would you want to run up and down between floors to get money from your renters when you had more important things to be doing?  Nooooo, I didn't think so.

"Okay, well, uh, pick a room," I say and wave my hand around conversationally.  "That is, if it isn't taken."

He's staring at me again.  I wonder if I just broke out a new pimple…Ew.  I *hate* pimples.  Just as much as I hate when people touch my hair.  And you know how much I hate people touching my braid, don't you?

"What?" I say, getting a little irritated.  "Okay, fine, _I'll pick the room."  Grumbling, I walk to the nearest door, and, hoping with all my might that it is crawling with mice and flying moths to just creep the guy out, I let it swing open.  No rats.  No moths.  Damn._

"There," I say and walk in casually, hands on my hips.  "I'll get you some sheets for your bed.  No tacks or anything put on the walls, please.  I don't think they can handle the rough treatment.  Don't want them to come down at you, now do we?  Anyway, pets are allowed only if you plan on cleaning up their shit."

The suit had stopped at the door to stare and study his surroundings like some machine.  What is it with this guy?  Sighing, I continue.

"And under no circumstances can I afford to fix things up for you," I say.  "If your faucet breaks down or something, don't come crying to me.  Everything comes out of your own pocket."

"Hn," came that beautiful sound again.  Sigh. 

"All righty then," I say lively, clapping my hands though I really didn't feel any of the energy at the moment.  My adrenaline rush from the kitchen left me a little woozy.  "With that said and done, I'm gonna leave you alone and return to my meat and stove."

I turn to leave, braid swinging behind me, when the suit calls me back.  "How much do you pay to work down there?"

Freeze.  Hold the phone.  Was this guy actually serious?  He wanted to work with a psycho that just tried to shove a knife in his kidneys?  Dude, what is it with people these days?

"Are you asking for a job?" I ask, turning back around.  The suit just set his suitcase on the floor and he turns to look at me, arms slowly crossing over his chest.

"No," he answers.  "I'm just wondering."

Giving him my best skeptical look, I cross my arms over my chest, head tilting to the side.  My heavy braid quickly follows and I find an even heavier presence weighing me down.  Damn.  It.  How can girls stand hair so long like this?

Then again, why the hell don't I cut it?  Eh…Don't answer that.  Please.

"Minimum wage," I answer carefully, just waiting for him to run up and attack me for being a cheap ass…or something.  You can never be too careful…MmmHmm…

"Hmm," he mumbles thoughtfully.  "And when do you plan to fix this dump?"

"Hey man!" I yell angrily, pointing my finger in his direction.  "This is my home, that you're talking about!  I didn't ask you to stay here!  Why, I should kick you out for wearing-."

"I was just asking," the suit snaps.  "Besides, does not Quatre Winner wear a suit everyday?"

"Yeah, but he doesn't have the asshole personality to go with it," I grumble. The suit suddenly perks up and for a minute, I believe he heard me.  Then slowly his gaze grows dark.  Yep…he heard me…

"I have nothing more to ask you," he grunts, arms crossing.  "Leave."

"Yes, almighty leader," I reply mockingly and I bow lowly to his Royal Suit Ass before turning around and walking straight out with all the pride I can muster into my spine.

*****

I find myself cuddling on the couch that evening, hugging my pillow in replacement for a human being.  The TV is on, but I'm not really watching it.  Instead, I'm just staring off at the pile of bills just beyond my reach on the floor.  I owe more money this week than usual, because I fell asleep and left the TV on all night.  And then there had been the incident just a couple of weeks ago where a few men were fighting over whether I was a guy or girl.  It pissed me off to no end, especially when they cracked my counter when one had punched the other fat ass.  I had to replace the whole part of the counter.

I sigh heavily into the pillow, gripping onto it more tightly.  I need, right now, some human support.  A pat on the back would be nice.  A little hug.  The stress was climbing from all the bills rolling in.  I was ready to scream.  And I hated stress.  A lot.  It was in third place on my Hate List.

What was I going to do?  I had to buy more food for the restaurant yet with this six hundred dollar fee over my head, it was going to kill me.  No, it was going to kill my business. I'll never have enough to pay off and get all the supplies I needed.

I sigh into the silent night.  "Being poor sucks."

And it only gets worse with my new occupant.  It is easy to admit to myself that this place needed more work then the Coliseum.  But when other people came around, eyes staring at everything with the biggest disgust all over their faces, I just want to scream and tell them to get out.  They didn't understand what it is like to never have enough money to keep the lights on.  They didn't understand how hard I work to just keep a stupid smile on my face so they would think a poor bastard like me is a happy poor bastard.  And that suit – that Heero Yuy – is just like the rest.  When he was born, he probably had toys shoved in his face until he was buried in them.  Since I was born, I had a spatula in one hand and a mop in the other.  It just isn't enough.  The rich bastard probably even knows his parents.

I never even met mine.

I lived with my aunt from the first thing I remember.  She died sometime after I received news that I owned, from my dead parents, a shabby, run-down hotel and restaurant. I came a long way since then.  I improved everything, made it better then when my parents left it.  And it still isn't enough.

I rested there all night until I remember looking up and reading the clock say 12.  After that, I fell asleep at some point, with all my worries and the stress going up.  And you know what?

I left the TV on.


	3. Maggots!

Title: 0102 Wing Street - 3

Author: Sita Seraph

Genre: Romance, Humor

Pairing: 1x2, 3x4 get-together fic

Rated: PG-13

Warning: Attempt at humor. Alternative Universe.  Yaoi.

Summary: Duo Maxwell is trying to keep his restaurant and hotel, Maxwell, from collapsing when a youthful stud-with-cash walks into his life…and tries to take control of it.

First of all, I hate Heero Yuy.  What is it with that guy?  One week in MY hotel and he thinks he owns the place!  The nerve!  The jerk!  The….gggrrrrraaahhhh! *huff*  If I didn't need his money so bad, I'd kick him right out of the place…Honestly, coming in every morning and telling me that the water heater is out or that I should paint the hallway or something!…Does it look like I don't know that this place is a dump?

For the third time today, I fell asleep at the stove.  I don't know how I do it, managing to stand up and snore to heaven, but it keeps happening and Trowa has to keep nudging me awake with his elbow.  Three steaks have already landed on the floor that were suppose to go into that salad over there in the corner…the lettuce is already turning brown…I haven't been sleeping at all this week.  I've been actually trying to figure out how save the down fort, but the way these hamburgers keep boiling down to sunflower seeds because I can't keep my eyes open, I can tell that I'm not going to make ends meet.  I've been harping for Quatre and Wufei to pay their rent whenever they can spare the change and throwing it right into a jar I have above the sink.  Worse yet, I have to serve coffee in royal china to his noble Buttness with two sugars and no cream – he's lactose intolerant. Who would have figured that me, in my frilly blue apron, would serve his imperial Morning-Hair his cup of coffee every morning like some stodgy housewife?  Next thing I know, I'll be waving my hanky and blowing him kisses as he marches off towards his yellow horse and right into the sunset, where WORK awaits him!  My Shining Stick-in-the-Mud! *dreamy sigh*

"Wake up, sir."

"I AM awake!" I snap, irritated.  I resume my vigor on smashing the potatoes mercilessly into a matter of white, fluffy goo, since this morning my blender decides it wants a fork for its breakfast.  And you know who suggests to the blender that it have silver wear today?  None other than Shini!  So I'm two minutes late putting down your bowl of fat kitty food, what more do you want from me!?!

"Here comes Quatre," Trowa says, looking through the convenient window that connects the kitchen to the restaurant outside.  I turn around quickly and point my potato-licked masher-thing at the blonde's head as he appears, smacking the boy's suit and his cheek with chunks of half-mashed food.

"GAHH!" I yell at Quatre's startled expression.  "Get out!  Out!  I cannot stand another suit in my presence!!"

"Uhh, Duo?" Quatre's meep reply came.

"My karma is fogged!" I yell hysterically, waving my arms wildly and taking no notice to the potatoes smacking the wall and ceiling.  "My hormones are screwed!  My future is cloudy!"

Quatre blinks.

"The wind is blowing east!  My ocean waves are wild!"

Quatre slowly raises an eyebrow.

"The water is contaminated!  The eagle can't land!  The duckie is no longer in the pond!"

"D-Duo, are you okay?"

"Damnit, man!  Don't you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth!?"

"Hardly.  The meaning of it all is going east."

"ARG!" I scream, frustratingly.  "Trowa, you explain it to him!"

I watch Trowa pause from wiping his eyes free from some white, fluffy stuff in his eyes.  I blink.  Either those are big sand-sleepers or Trowa has a SERIOUS problem on his hands…

"I'm sorry," he mutters.  "My _eyes are cloudy." With that, he continues to clean himself up. _

"It meeeaaans," I say, while whipping my head back around in Quatre's direction, "that – where the hell did he go?"

"If my karma serves me correctly," Trowa mumbles behind a wash cloth, "he went out the front door and took a left."

"I WASN'T FINISHED YET, QUATRE!!!" I howl, drawing whatever heads are left in the restaurant that weren't already looking at me towards the kitchen.  "WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT!?!  DO I HAVE SOMETHING ON MY FACE!?!"

"Actually, sir…"

"Shut up, Trowa," I mutter as I rip the wet washcloth from his hands and start cleaning myself up.

"Can I have my cup of coffee, now, Maxwell?"

Covering my flushing face with the convenient red and white cloth, my hand flew up – quite accidentally, I tell you – and popped him the bird.  "Eat shit, Yuy."

"Coffee will be fine, thank you."

"GR!" I growl and slap the cloth back to a rebound Trowa and stomp straight to the other side of the kitchen.  "You want coffee?"

"In a cup, preferably."

"Anything else?" I ask sweetly as I pour the dark liquid in a white mug, turning my head around to bat my pretty lashes at his royal Fuck.

"Coffee…is fine."

"Well, then, thank you SO much for your patronage, Yuy," I purr with sugary sweetness that just screamed short skirts, blonde pig-tails, and pom-poms.  I pop in two sugar cubes and grab some milk on the way to the window, where the hero awaits in his shining suit glory.  At that moment, I imagine myself tearing as he 'rides' into the sunset, and I lose it – really, I had sanity before I met my Heero.

            Accidently, though I KNOW you won't believe me, I trip over…over…over Shini!…and Heero's look before all that beautiful, black, HOT coffee splashes all over his white shirt is- ahhh – priceless.  He even gave my ego a good scream.  I have tears in my eyes at his horrified face, the attempt to keep my laughter in killing me.

"Oh, man, Heero!" I scream, slapping a hand sound against my cheek in mock horror.  "I can fix it!"  With that, I pick up the carton of milk and throw it over his white shirt.  He yells again and I can't help the evil cackle wrenching from my throat as my white dairy product tries to sizzle out the heat and drown out the dark liquid soaking his shirt.  Hahahaha!  Here, have a pickle!(1) Ahahaha…!!

"DUO MAXWELL!"

I will never get over that beautiful angry sound for the rest of my life…

"Yuy Heero?" I reply sweetly, smacking the nearly empty carton back on the counter.  I bat my lashes at him again and grin at his infuriated glare smoking up my hair.  Add a little gasoline right now, and it will probably go up in flames.

"This shirt…is coming…out of my rent," he grounds out, hands fisting at his sides before he turns and marches out to the restaurant for his apartment room.  I laugh wickedly after him.

"And next time I'll use mustard!(2)" I yell and pick up the carton, grinning at the small audience in my shop.

"Any other takers?" I grin, and blow off the 'smoke' from my weapon coolly, the carton hooting happily.

…

Wait a second…

…..Did he just say that shirt is going to cost me!?!?!

I DON'T THINK SO!

"YUY!" I scream and take the back way out of my kitchen, ignoring Trowa's angry look completely.

"You cannot cost me for that frilly thing!"

"Frilly?! Thing?! This was expensive!"

"Yeah!  Its probably worth more than this building!" I yell angrily, stomping my foot against the floorboards in illustration and the board cracks with a pitiful groan.

"I guess that means I won't have to pay ever again," Heero replies, surprisingly smooth and marches into his apartment.  I throw myself in with him before he can close the door on me, knocking the door to smack against the wall.  The knob pops out immediately afterward and rolls across the floor.  Heero glares at me, his ruined shirt foiling the look greatly that I was able to stand up to it with my past confidence.

"Heero, you have to pay!" I tell him furtively, just imagining what would happen in a matter of weeks.  If I didn't come up with another way to get more money in the building, the collectors will appear and strip everything away from me in a matter of moments.  They can't take my jukebox…

"I don't have to do anything," Heero replies coldly, tearing off his ruined and wet tie and tossing it carelessly to the floor.  I scoop it up without thinking as he moves away for the bathroom, tearing off his shirt angrily.  "You're spoiled rotten, you think you can get away with anything without consequences…"

"Excuse me!?" I shriek, storming after the lost renter. "Whose the one with all the cash?  I'm lucky to get by every month, you asshole, and you're makin' it worse for me when you don't even pay for your god damn coffee!"

"I put it with my pay-," Heero kicks the door shut in my face.  I scowl.

"People like YOU always get it easy," I swear. "You're the people who don't have to pay the consequences.  Free ways in colleges, people swooning all over you because you-you're rich.  Why you chose this dump, I don't know, but I think you'll be able to handle not to have a stupid shirt and pay your rent."

"I have very minimal supplies," came my answer.

"UGH! Go to Old Navy for fuckin' sakes – nobody can tell a cheap white shirt from an expensive one-."

"They don't have the gold buttons on the sleeves…"

"OhmyGod!" I screech to heaven, kicking the door in my exasperation – and it fails to catch, buckling into the bathroom, swinging wide to reveal a wide-eyed Heero Yuy I blink, my kick still swinging and I halt right before it encounters…um…Heero's…_very…naked waist._

"Oh, wow," I say intelligently, scratching my cheekbone thoughtfully.  Slowly, I look up at Heero's glowering face…and wow, he's angry and glowing! Cherries don't get redder than that…in fact, he just looks plain _nasty that red – like a pimple! Grody!!_

"Foot," he grounds out, pointing at my still-risen leg.  Obediently, I lower it to the ground, darting my eyes away to the rich dude's chest and perky nipples-!?!WHOANOW!?! Perky nipples?

Before I got much of a chance to digest THAT one, Heero slams the door shut – well, um…tries to.  Instead, the door decides it's had enough with the crappy treatment and breaks off its hinges.

"AHH!" Waving frantically and stumbling over my own untied shoelaces, – listen to me, folks; TIE YOUR GOD DAMN SHOES! – the door swallows me whole; braid, shoe laces, potato mush, and all.

"Help!" I scream, beating against the heavy wooden door.  "It's biting me!  It's biting me!  No…wait…NOOO!!!  It's not biting me!  Maggots!  MAAAGGGGGOOOOOOTTTTTSSSS!!!"

"Hold on…let me get my pants on…"

"I don't care about your pants, Heero Yuy!  Get the maggot eating door off me or you'll be cleaning up Duo Maxwell scrapings!!!"

"In that case…" I hear footsteps drifting away from me…

…That's probably not a good thing.  Gr.

"Oh, for God's sake, man!" I sob with a slight accent.  "Get yourself together!  Help a friend!"

"Hn."

That's a good sign.  At least he's still here! ^_^

"I…I…can't feel my left leg…" I gasp out, fighting to see what's happened to the poor limb but the door wasn't quite working with me.  "Have you got yer pants on yet?"

"Yes."

"Then why haven't you gotten this off of me!?!"

"Shirt."

"Oh, my flippin' God…Hey….Hey now…Noo…Noooooooo…"

"What is it now?"

"They're in my underwear.  I…" Oh, shit…

First move:  Start screaming bloody murder.

So, I do.  I don't know right now what my second move is.  But this seemed really good, so I'll just keep screaming.

"What!?!" Heero yells.

"THEY'RE GOIN' SOUTH FOR THE WINTER!!!!" I sob hysterically.  Now, I'm not sure what happened next but I think it went in this order:

Heero throws the door off so fast it went right back into the bathroom.

I'm jumping up and down, screaming.

We're both clawing my clothes off and I'm shaking my head like a dog to free what insects might be in my hair.

And I'm nearly naked with Heero's hands on my underwear when, wouldn't cha know it, Wufei walks in.

"Heero, you need to-Ah, Jesus," Wufei says and brings the documents up to cover his face and the view in front of him.

Speaking of which…

Blinking between the two of us, I realize that I've lost my apron, my shirt, my pants, and almost my Joe Boxers – which Heero was fingering quite affectionately – while the said man had half his shirt on, with only one arm through one sleeve, and his pants unbuttoned and unzipped – hey!  He doesn't wear any underwear! – with my hands gripping his new shirt.

Now…for the situation at hand…

"Its not whatja think, Chang!" I yell in defense of my sexuality – this so isn't good.  The jukebox girls will never let it down…

"Let me explain…" Heero says quite calmly, even though moments before he was ripping off my clothes like a fox in heat – down, boy ^^.

"You could have taken a second to close the door," Wufei says, dropping the papers down with his eyes rolling.  I open my mouth to retort when I suddenly gasp and swallow the air I was about to use.

"AHHHH!!!" Screaming, I ran to the bathroom, pick up the door, and push it back into place.

Need privacy for horny maggots, you know…

1. Ninja Turtles Movie #2!  Mikie says it when he's beating up a bad Ninja in the beginning of the movie! ^_^

2. Mikie again, same movie, at the end of the battle when the rest of the bad guys are running away.  Actually, I added this to my fic Strange Disease.  Did anybody notice…?

…

You guys are mean.


End file.
